A few weeks ago, the strangest thing happened to me: I was happy. For a mere few days I felt complete solitude, bliss and peace with myself. This had nothing to do with anything that was happening in my life, or not happening in my life. I could have been alone on a deserted island, and I would have felt this same way.

For a mere few days, I felt like for the first time, I could relax. I normally live a life of complete anxiety, sadness and regret. Every day is a struggle, just to get out of bed and brush my teeth. The sadness overtakes the moment I wake, and I put on my usual facade, and smile through the day. But it's always an empty smile, for I'm not every truly happy. If things could be different, I'm telling you, I wish they were, but here I am in this world, struggling through like anyone else.

For mere days, I was relieved of these feelings I've lived with my entire life, these feelings of anxiety and depression and fear. I read a book that spoke to me. I read a book that I had read 12 years before without understanding it then. But during these recent days, I re-read this book, and I got it. I was able to put in practice all the teachings I read about in this book. For these days, I was entirely relieved.

I was at peace with myself. All I had to do was realize 4 simple truths: be impeccable with my word, don't take anything personally, don't make assumptions and always do my best. I was liberated. The bubble that had burst after reading Daniel Quinn so many years ago, was rebuilt in an instant. When I rode the bus every morning, I no longer looked at all the grim faces around me, and hated each and every one of their stinking smirks. Rather, I couldn't stop smiling for the thought that I was master of this simple knowledge, that we all should be master of. We are all in this world together. Strangers began talking to me in random places, something that normally never happened because of the wall I kept up around myself.

When I waited in a bar, alone, for a friend to arrive, I was overcome with love for the world, and all the strangers around me. The view out the window, out onto Ossington, became like a romantic movie, and I smiled whole heartedly at all the strangers around me. I was in love with the life which beat around me, at peace for the first time in my life.

The pinnacle culmination of these feelings was in this very moment. Dancing alone in my kitchen listening to a favourite song. This is a real, honest to god smile on my face:

But then why: the next day I woke up feeling like I'd regressed a little bit back into my ordinary ways. I tried desperately to hold on to the bliss I had been feeling...desperately. But it was futile. The bliss disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. I was left depressed once again. Scrambling, I didn't know what to do. In an attempt to regain it all back, I just ended up pushing it farther away again, until all the bliss slipped through my fingers, and out of reach.

Some days I can muster up a little bit of that bliss, but it isn't strong enough to keep me going for more then a few seconds. I can only take it day by day now, and step by step, and I ask myself: was it truly better to have felt bliss for a few days, and then lost it or to have never felt it at all? The answer is yes. Yes it was better to have had bliss for moments, and felt it fully before it fell out of my hands, out of my heart.

"They look like big, strong hands, don't they?" But even the strongest of us cannot always hold on to love and bliss for long. But if we can hold onto it long enough to realize it, then it is truly a gift.

Now, blissless, I only try day by day to bring some goodness to a stranger's day. Even though I am so painfully shy, shier now then I've ever been I believe, if I can smile and ask someone if they are ok, I've done something worthwhile, and taken a step closer to that bliss once again.

The other day, taking the subway home in rush hour, I ended up sitting beside a woman who had clearly taken too many drugs, drank too much alcohol or perhaps sedated herself. Everyone was staring at her, gaping, standing as far away from her as possible. So instead of shying away when she flopped over onto me, I simply put my hand on her arm and asked her if she was ok. She said yes, and said I was a sweetheart for asking.

She continued to mumble things to me, most of which I didn't understand, but I chose to smile and listen to her, as others looked on in horror. I asked her where she was going, and when I understood that she had missed her stop, I pointed her in the right direction. She thanked me again as everyone else looked at me like I had lost my mind for talking to this other human being who was perhaps down in out, but in need of a little help.

Now, I'm just taking things day by day. Trying to enjoy the sunshine and the songs of the birds.

Poppy: my new addition. This little ragamuffin was adopted as a much needed companion for Simon, and finally after almost a week, they are sleeping on the same bed together, though at opposite ends, this is a huge milestone for these two. What was meant to be the gift of a sister for my lonely little guy, ended up being a trauma for him. He has hated her with his entire being since she arrived on Tuesday. I have never heard so many hisses and growls in all my 8 years with him. But now, here they are, both sleeping soundly mere feet from each other. I'm a happy girl for this.

And yes: her tongue sticks out like that almost always.She was rescued by the Annex Cat Rescue, found emaciated on the street, riddled with infections. She is now healthy and happy, and finally starting to get along with Simon, so it seems!

When this moment of eating happened earlier this afternoon, I was thrilled. Up until then these two could barely stand to be in the same room as each other.

I was in tears last night. Tears over the trauma I had brought upon Simon this week. He was so upset, and not himself. What was supposed to be a good thing for him, has been hell for him. Alas, he seems to be adjusting, and I hope these two can work out their differences and learn to love each other.

Honestly, this girl has everything I wish I could have...how is it possible to have so much style so effortlessly? I'm just saying. She could wake up after sleeping for days on a dirty street and still look amazing.Though, I've been stuck between two alleys of thought lately regarding style. I've been recently concentrating fully on not caring what other think of me, and it's liberating. The problem is, some days I want to be put together and done up like Audrey, and feel like a skid in my jeans and wellies. And some days, when I am put together classy like, I feel almost ashamed, not like I'm posing, but rather, the thought that if I don't care what people think, then why have I tried so hard today?

Basically, the days when I'm comfortable in skidly style, I feel like a little girl compared to these effortless, gorgeous women in heels and silky hair. Then, I have to try extra hard to regain my sense of not caring what they think, but promise myself that tomorrow I will put on some heeled boots and blowdry my hair. Then when tomorrow arrives, and I'm put together tall in my heels, I feel like a fool sitting next to that hippy girl who embodies what I am so much of the time.

I guess when it comes to style, you can't really win. All you can do is dress the way you feel that morning, and if you feel like a slacker/slicker later on, fuck it. Change later when you get home and relax, because clothes do not make the woman.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Back for just a moment here...Crazy emotions lately, what is going on over here? Well, just gettin' through.Last week I was feeling so good, better then ever. For no reason, just simply felt at peace with everything. I felt like I'd regained the bubble that had previously been burst by such books as Ishmael.

I felt myself loving the world again, loving people (strange, I know) and not giving a shit what anyone thought of me. Life was just a big joke and I played into that doing weird things like going to a random open casting call for a talent/modeling agency (why not?) and they actually accepted me because I have an "unusual look" and "red hair which is rare" (really? is it that rare?)

Anyway, I'm not accepting their offer, I don't actually want to do that, I only went because I had nothing else to do on Sunday.

Ok, but on to this week. I don't feel any of those things anymore. I'm back to my old negative, shy ways. One thing I noticed in my few days of peaceful bliss: the happier I felt generally, the more my panic attacks and anxiety surfaced. It was very strange, and I don't know what the correlation was there. I haven't suffered from anxiety quite like that since 2002, but last week, the better I felt, the more the attacks hounded me. And now that I'm feeling all negative and sad the way I usually do, the attacks are subsiding again.

Its almost as if my own mind / body won't allow me to just be happy hey. Its like as soon as I feel a glimmer of hope, the bad stuff kicks in and says "hey now, if you are going to ignore us, we're gonna throw shit at you!" And as soon as I give into that, they stop throwing shit at me!

Honestly, if I had to choose, I would DEFINITELY choose the blissful bubble with a side of panic attacks over the general feeling of sadness and anger.

On a side note: I've been seriously thinking about getting a second cat for Simon. Simon is gettin' up there and he's turning into quite a vocal, curmudgeony old man. He's almost 9 if you can believe it. I'm hesitant though. I think he's lonely, but at the same time, he might be upset by the addition of a brother or sister (who will likely be named Sizzles after my fave cartoon doggily). I met a foster cat on the weekend who was an amazing little dude, but sheds a lot of white fur...is it ok for me to be that picky? I know a cat is a cat, and not a fashion accessory, but I'm not too interested in having a black cat AND a white cat. I wouldn't be able to go out of the house wearing anything but cat fur.